Legacy of the Hawke
by Eva Galana
Summary: Based upon the DLC: Legacy. Pursued by unknown parties who seek his blood, Garrett Hawke soon finds himself delving into the depths of a family secret. Can his deceased father provide the answers he needs to survive this latest test?
1. Chapter 1

_Wyl (you really REALLY should be reading his stuff, by the way) gave me this wonderful idea to try and help wipe away all the cobwebs in my head and to get through the crap RL has been handing to me lately (and I think its working 'cause I actually got some inspiration for Reborn!). He got the idea when I mentioned that I love the Legacy DLC and that my muse seemed more intent on playing through that than actually helping me write. So, here it is. The first chapter of my latest distraction..._

_Legacy of the Hawke_

_Chapter 1_

The young mage glared over his shoulder at the group trailing slightly behind him, taking note of their ever roaming eyes and battle-ready stance as they moved, hands hovering over hilts or bows. Their leader, their Commander, walked tall and proud just slightly to his left, dark brown eyes narrowing whenever the mage turned his blue orbs upon him. Shifting his shoulders ever so slightly, the Commander allowed a frown to mar his narrow face.

"Just remember what you are doing this for, Malcolm," came the words the Grey Warden had repeated time and again since the former Circle mage found himself in this rather unenviable predicament.

Those cool blue eyes narrowed even further as he turned away, marching along the crumbling walkways of the ancient, underground fortress. "You do not need to remind me, Larius," his words practically seethed with the anger and, yes, hatred the young mage felt for the Grey Warden walking at his shoulder.

Aware of their mage's mood, the others allowed the silence to fall, save for the constant clicking of armored boot heels upon the crumbling stone. The mage could feel it, the powerful magics of the place, the wards that held centuries' old power. Powerful, even as they decayed. The ancient magic – blood magic – danced along his senses, warning him of the evil that not only was imprisoned within this massive structure, but the evil that was used to keep it so. This was why the Wardens had…recruited the newly made apostate. To help rebind the wards of the ancient prison.

And he shuddered at the thought, disgust and trepidation making him ill as he recalled what they expected of him.

To sell his soul to the most available demon, and to the Fade with the consequences to him. They did anything in the name of their self-imposed duty, under the guise of protecting others.

Malcolm surely disbelieved that they did anything with the goal of _protecting_ in mind, their one purpose to eradicate darkspawn seeming to negate any human consideration. How he had ended up here was only proof of their single-minded purpose.

They needed a mage, one who was not a warden. Although the significance of that fact was lost upon Malcolm and none of his warden handlers had seen fit to explain the difference between a Warden mage and one who was not a member of the Order. Frankly, at this point, even his curiosity in the ancient Tevinter structure had waned and all he wanted was to get this ordeal over with and never see the wretched face of Larius or Wardens in general ever again.

If they laid one hand…one finger upon Leandra, the Fade itself would not hold them safe from him.

The thought caused a shudder to course through the young Spirit Healer's body, nearly choking him on the words. A gentle person by nature, Malcolm knew well that any threat to the woman he loved could cause even his closely held temper to explode. There was nothing and on one that he would battle to protect his beloved wife and newborn son.

Here, Malcolm shuddered, again forcing his fear down, scowling deeply as that fear was replaced with a bout of self-pity and disgust. For two weeks they had been stuck in this Maker-forsaken graveyard. Two weeks they had battled darkspawn, walking corpses, shades and other creatures of the Fade. The young mage glanced back…back toward layers and levels of ancient debris, stone, granite and dust, eyes penetrating, as though they could peer through the layers upon layers to the prisons of the demons he had to contain in order for this group to continue its trek to the lower reaches of the fortress. Closing his eyes, he refocused his attention forward, forward toward the prison they currently walked toward. Ashamed at himself for the wish he had made – the words spilling almost too easily from his mouth - those days prior as he placed the final seal on the powerful demon, for he had never, in all his twenty-three years ever been ashamed of who he was; of what he was. But now, free from the Circle, he found himself dreaming and wishing for things that, given his heritage - as well as Leandra's - that may well be hopeless and futile to hope for.

That his son, his Garrett, would be - and here he shudders again - _normal_.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts he stumbled upon more debris, scowling as Larius' hand shot forward to grasp the younger man by the arm to prevent him from falling to the crumbling stone at his feet. Harshly tugging his arm free of the iron grip the Warden held, Malcolm continued to walk forward, toward whatever destiny these interfering Grey Wardens had for him.

And what Legacy he would be leaving to his son.

)0(


	2. Chapter 2

_Legacy of the Hawke_

_Chapter 2_

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" the younger male muttered, rubbing a large hand through his short, dark hair as he turned to cast a sidelong glance at the elder male beside him. "Say what you want. But, for once, a girl's finally interested in me, and not the great Garrett Hawke!"

Sputtering slightly, taking note of the amused chuckle from the dwarf behind them, the blond stopped in his tracks, scowling up at the other. "Never said I was interested in the pretty little elf girl, Carver." He shrugged, resuming stepping along the rugged trail, leading deeper into the Vinmark Mountains. "That was all you, brother."

"Which is probably why she's more interested in _Little_ Hawke than Hawke," Varric, the dwarf, chuckled from behind the bittering brothers, gently patting the crossbow slung across his back. The younger male – Carver, turned to settle his glare upon the dwarf as the one the dwarf named as 'Hawke' laughed out loud.

"Who are you calling 'little', dwarf?" the young man scowled darkly, dark brown eyes narrowing slightly as he felt his face heat up. Standing over three inches taller than his more slender mage brother, the well-muscled warrior deeply resented being labeled with the nickname 'Little Hawke'.

"'Little' in this context has little," the dwarf chuckled again as the mage hid his grin behind a slender, long fingered hand, "to do with size," brown eyes glittering with mischief, the dwarf added, "_Junior_."

His scowl deepening, the young warrior turned from his companions, ignoring the grins on the faces of the two women trailing behind. "I hate you, dwarf," he muttered with venom as he clomped along the stone-strewn mountain trail.

"Love you too, _Little_ Hawke," Varric grinned at the amused look upon the elder Hawke's fine-featured face.

"I'd think your biggest concern would be her learning of your…visits to the Rose," the dark skinned woman sauntering along at the back of the pack, quipped, amusement dancing within sultry, golden brown eyes.

"I…I…" Carver stuttered, turning quickly to glare at the woman, who merely smiled brighter at his discomfort.

With a chuckle, Isabela raised a dark hand. "Have no worries, there, Pup," she smirked. "I wouldn't dream of interfering with…true love."

Everyone – even Aveline – chuckled at the young man's expense as he cast a scathing glare at them and turned his back.

Seeking to soothe his brother's ruffled pride somewhat, Garrett stepped up to the taller of the two, patting a hand to one strong shoulder. _He could break me in two_, the mage thought as Carver turned an angry eye to his elder sibling. Sighing, knowing full well that the teasing from the dwarf – coupled with his own amusement at said teasing – was doing little – he chuckled – to ease the ever growing tension between the brothers.

"She _is_ very pretty," Garrett offered, smiling slightly as Carver shrugged his hand from his shoulder. "A definite step up from Peaches."

"She's not just pretty, she's beautiful." With a sigh, Carver turned to his brother. "There is no comparison," he said in a strong voice. "Peaches…" the young warrior shrugged again, turning back to the path, kicking at the loose dirt and stone at his feet. "'Sides, Peaches only…liked me to get closer to you."

"And you _know_ she never stood a chance with me," Garrett smiled. "Not nearly delicate enough."

Snorting, Carver scowled. "Then why aren't you interested in…" A light dawned in his eyes as a snide smirk crossed his handsome features. "Unless it's _Fenris_ who's caught your eye."

Shaking his head, Garrett responded, "No, no…as much as I think our Tevinter elf is beyond exquisite, he hates me. I think I rather like all of my internal organs to remain _internal_, thank you very much." Sighing heavily, glancing back at the all too interested dwarf following them, the mage stepped closer to his brother. "I just…don't want to get into any…entanglements right now." He shrugged. "As much as our elven companions may….hold an interest for me," he chose to ignore the scowl that deepened upon his brother's face. "I'd much rather concentrate on first taking care of this Carta matter and then getting through the expedition. Once we're set…once Mother is safe and sound somewhere other than Lowtown, maybe, just maybe I can relax…"

"I get it, I get it," Carver said in a soft voice, reaching over to pat his brother's shoulder. "I don't mean to be an ass about things, Brother," he almost sighed at the surprised glance he earned from his elder. "Sometimes, when I actually get something I want, well…"

"You just wait for the rug to be pulled out from under you," the apostate nodded. "That's been your whole life. Having a mage for a father and then two mage siblings has been difficult for you." Gazing at his brother sidelong as they continued along their path, Garrett said in an even quieter voice he knew his listening brother could hear well. "There have been many times when I thought that my and Beth's going to the Circle would have been the best thing for you and Mother." He ignored the scowl that had taken full hold of Carver's mouth and brow as he pushed forward to continue. "You have given up everything – friends, a stable home, girls, even being able to join the local militias – because we could not allow close scrutiny of the family. Because we had to be prepared to pack up and move if someone found out a family of apostates lived nearby."

"I understood…" Carver began, but Garrett cut him off.

"Of course you did," the young mage frowned at the anger within his own voice. "It was drilled into your head since you were born simply because Father and I were mages. And then when Beth's talent emerged..." His gaze upwards became more intense, and Carver had to look away. "But, really Carver, was it fair to you?"

Silence reigned between the two Hawke siblings as the words were absorbed by both. Finally, Carver spoke. "We had to protect the family."

A small smile crossed Garrett's features, his blue eyes – his father's eyes – softened even further as they gazed upon his youngest surviving siblinng. He really wanted to hug his brother, but knew full well that Carver would never allow it. Instead, he said, "Just, know that both Beth and I knew how unfair it was to you and Mother. That, we had to protect three other members to the detriment of the two of you."

"At least I got to join the army," Carver offered, his attempt to ease his brother's obvious guilt-ridden conscience.

Snorting, the mage turned his gaze to the back of their pack, where Aveline – tall, strong, proud – strode beside their darker skinned friend, Isabela, trying to ignore…whatever was pouring from the pirate's mouth. "Yeah, I know. But, even that was taken from you before you could earn your way through as you deserved."

Shocked, Carver could think of nothing to say in reply, and so just walked silently beside his elder brother, feeling just a little bit closer to the one member of his family he strove on a daily basis to antagonize and heap the blame for his life upon. It had been unfair of him, he knew it. After all, it was not Garrett and Beth's fault they were born mage-blooded. It ran in both sides of the family. And yet, their parents still married, still had children, knowing full well the outcome. The young warrior knew full well where any blame should lay. But, Carver would never say such a thing to Garrett. His elder brother worshipped their father and adored their mother; had taken up the mantle of protector and head of the family when their father passed away a few years ago to some unknown affliction.

Garrett had proven an easier target for his ire. The mage was easy going, all too accepting of his role as the midden heap, as it were. And Carver, with his envy of the time the elder Hawke brother spent with their father, jealous of the pride his mother shown to the blond Hawke – the only one of her children to resemble their father in every way - found it all too easy to heap that refuse upon Garrett's more slender yet remarkably strong shoulders.

Yup. He, Carver Hawke was an ass.

He was startled from his revelries as Varric stepped up to the pair, calling a halt to the group. Looking up, he took note that they had reached a stone bridge, crumbling from years of wear, overlooking a deep chasm scorched deep into the valley of the Vinmark Mountains.

"Well, according to my sources, this leads to where the idiot Carta are holed up," the dwarf remarked in his deep, dry voice.

"You seem concerned," Aveline observed from her place at the back.

Turning to look over at the tall human woman, Varric's frown deepened. "There shouldn't even have been a 'here'," his voice was laden with confusion. "This entire area is a blind spot on the map."

"But you are certain it was from here our assailants are headquartered?" Garrett asked, frowning as Varric nodded.

"My sources are never wrong," the dwarf reiterated.

"Well, whoever they are, they need to be stopped," Aveline's strong voice cut in, annoyance clearly in her tone as she stepped up to the pair of men she considered family.

"Daft in the head," Isabela remarked as she sidled up beside Garrett, cocking a hip in what she considered a provocative stance.

"What's the plan, Hawke?" Varric asked, as always trying to keep things on track.

"Oh, I don't know," Garrett drawled as he looked over the expanse of the chasm below. "I thought we'd just ask them to stop. That, there must be some misunderstanding."

"Oh," Varric mimicked Garrett's drawl. "You're Hawke? I thought it was Locke. My mistake."

"Sure," Carver's anger tinged voice interrupted over the chuckles and laughter of his companions. "Joke about it. Figures."

Shaking his blond head, Garrett patted his brother on the back. "Better than getting all upset, yes?" That only earned him a stern glare. "Fine, fine. Come on…let's go and see what we can learn about this particular mess."


	3. Chapter 3

_I needed a break from Reborn (don't worry; it will be updated this month), so figured I'd clear my head a bit with this._

_As a side note: the codex entries of Malcolm's agreement with the Wardens don't quite jive well with other in-game dialogue/information/codex entries we've been given (actually, they down right contradict each other). So, this isn't canon; even I can't wiggle a coherent plot out of that mess! So, as usual, I'm just going to take a fair amount of license with this story._

_Thanks, as always, to those who alert, favorite and review. Wyl, you know who you are! *cheeky grin*_

_Legacy of the Hawke_

_Chapter 3_

Shivering, the young mage settled down upon the cold stone, head bowed slightly as he lifted a bleeding arm, summoning his power to close the deep wound, weaving the magic tendrils around the injured limb, watching as the flesh pulled taut and the blood flow stilled. The pain eased as the flesh knit back together, the slightest of scars visible.

Blue eyes slid to the side, watching as his companions set up their meager camp.

He did not know whether it was night or day; his heart told him night, for the longing for his wife and son was strongest during those times. During the day, he worked as a farmhand, tilling the ground and acting as caretaker to the small farm hold just outside of Starkhaven. The evenings were spent solely at the side of his lovely wife and newborn son.

The labor was nothing new to the former mercenary. Despite having been raised within the Circle, the mage had managed to escape – with the assistance of a Templar who really did not seem to understand the whole 'watching the mages' aspect of his job - at a young age, and made his way across the Free Marches using not only his skill in magic but in the martial arts as well. A smile touched his lips as he recalled how he had convinced the Viscount of Kirkwall he had been a mage visiting from the Circle in Nevarra, and thus garnered an invite to one of his extravagant parties. He had to fight against the urge to visit with Ser Carver back at the Gallows, to show him that his own trust in him had not been misplaced. That thought had quickly been dashed, however; he certainly did not want to attract any attention from any of the Templars that may recognize him, despite how much he had changed over the years.

The years of freedom had instilled within him a great desire to never again be contained within the Circle. Thus, he would take no unnecessary risks.

That smile widened at the memory of his first meeting Leandra, at the very gathering he had managed to secure an invitation to. She was younger than he by a year. Ebony hair gracefully piled upon her perfect head, deep, brown, penetrating eyes, and a beautiful, open face. But it was her smile – brilliant, open, honest – that had drawn him in. As they danced, they spoke. Not of frivolous things such as fashion or the weather, but of politics, the role of the Chantry and Circle, the Templars and family history. He had been pleasantly surprised when the noble beauty had extolled upon how mages should be as free as the next person, able to prove him or herself just as anyone else. He had wanted to kiss her there, right on the dance floor, for such open-minded views. It was then he realized he had fallen in love with the young woman.

That smile remained for another moment as he continued to flood his injured limb with healing magic, his thoughts lost for the moment in memory.

The corners of his mouth turned downward, however, as he lifted his head to take in the dank surroundings. The ancient fortress still held a great interest for him – the history, the power that flowed through the antediluvian stronghold – despite his company, and he was determined to simply see this ordeal through. The knowledge that Larius had gone back on his word, and the mage was now treated more as a prisoner than ally grated upon him greatly and had quelled much of his enthusiasm for this place – this newest of adventures. That Larius had resorted to threats…

Lids closed over blue eyes as his head tipped forward. If Leandra and the baby came to any harm because of this decision…he would hunt the Warden Commander down to his last breath if necessary.

###

Larius glanced over at their charge, watching as the young man settled away from him and the other Grey Wardens. The Warden Commander shook his dark head, a frown turning the corners of his mouth downwards.

As a Grey Warden, he had to do whatever was necessary, regardless of the individual consequences, to prevent Blights. Even if those means were as distasteful as kidnapping a young man away from his family.

He was certain, based upon the information and lore contained within the vast libraries at Weisshaupt, that should the tainted evil kept imprisoned deep within this ancient fortress be set loose, even worse than a Blight would envelope all of Thedas.

The Warden Commander knew, realized and recognized, even after all of his years in the ranks of the Grey Wardens - now a mere handful of years from his Calling - what they were doing to young Malcolm Hawke and, by extension, his family was wrong. And yet, he had to continue, could not stop and turn back now, regardless of how he may feel personally about the situation.

Just the knowledge of what lay deep beneath the surface here, in the Vinmark Mountains caused even his hardened heart to quake in fear.

He hardened his resolve, his eyes taking on that cold, professional demeanor of a born killer, and turned away from the mage, who was now lifting his head to take in his surroundings. Larius would not allow any feelings of pity or sympathy to stop him from his mission. Whether Malcolm Hawke survived this ordeal or not would rest fully upon Malcolm Hawke's slender shoulders.

###

"The seals on this level are weakening," the only other mage within their group replied, dark eyes narrowing as the Warden Mage ran a hand along the cold stone of the chamber. Malcolm could not recall the darker man's name; he appeared to be Rivaini, with a swarthy complexion, nearly black eyes and ebony hair. His grin reminded the young mage of a pirate, and he forced away the shudder that ensued. Malcolm's own blue eyes followed the path along the wall, eyes skimming over the Grey Warden heraldry that lined the walls, resting upon several indentations that, even many feet away, the young mage could feel the ancient, dark magic flow from.

A frown creased his face as he stepped away from his handlers, stepping carefully through the open doorway. His breath caught in his throat as he took in a smaller, doorless chamber directly in front of him, and its occupant.

Its dark gray, undulating body rose and fell upon the air, the hooded head turned to watch as the mage and the accompanying Wardens stepped through the aperture. Malcolm could feel the malevolent power seep from the greater shade, despite the glittering barriers and other protections that surrounded it.

Closing his eyes, he sought out the threads of magic permeating the chamber. Although they still glowed with power, he could feel they were weakening, saw the pinpoint cracks along the power traces, small but potentially dangerous. He gathered they still had a decade, maybe more, maybe less, of power within them before they finally dissolved, setting the fiend loose.

And that could not happen.

Without as much as a backward glance to his captors, the former Circle mage stepped deeper into the chamber, his eyes scanning the walls, his mind's eye following the paths of power until he stood before a standard of the Grey Wardens.

It was within this carving he felt the traces of lingering containment magic.

"What is it, Malcolm?" Larius asked, causing the mage to cringe at the familiar use of his name.

Turning, he shrugged, gesturing toward the greater shade that was now watching the mage with great interest.

"These seals are weakening," the mage replied, scowling at the Wardens as they glanced over at the demon and then back to him. "If we do not do something to shore up the power, this demon will be set free."

"We cannot risk our current mission," Alec, one of the warriors who accompanied them, replied, his bright blue eyes fixed upon the demon, uncertainty in his voice.

His scowl deepened, and Malcolm firmed up his stance as he turned his glare to Larius. "I cannot just walk away, knowing that this evil will someday be turned loose."

The Commander watched Malcolm for many moments, his dark eyes narrowing in thought, then turning his gaze over to the Warden mage. Their eyes met, and the mage gave a nod. Larius' dark eyes fixed once more upon Malcolm's unmoving form and, for many moments, the pair stood, the mage glaring at the Warden, his body tensing as he prepared himself for his first open bought of disobedience since his capture.

To his surprise, Larius nodded, asking, "What do you need to do?"

Blinking away his surprise, Malcolm turned back to the power node. "I need to pour magic – pure, unfocused – into this binding." He turned away, searching out the chamber, his sight falling upon another similar node. "And that one as well," he said as he pointed across the way. Then, stepping away from his current position, he purposefully stepped before the greater shade, shuddering at the intense interest it still paid to him.

He had noticed the glowing portals within the barrier at the shade's chamber itself. "The power and skill that went into these bindings…" the mage breathed, awe in his voice as he raised a hand before the node, the hovering limb mere inches away. Shaking his blond head, he moved away, and back to the first node.

"As I pour power into each node," he said, pointing to each of the three bindings he had identified within the chamber, "you and your Wardens will need to stand before the shade." He turned to look at Larius. "If I fail, if instead of powering this node I instead pull what energy remains from it, the shade will be set free. You and the others," he tilted his head to where the other Wardens stood, "will need to kill the shade if it is free."

"Why don't we just do that anyway?" Alec asked, eyes fixed upon the shade.

Snorting, the Warden mage bit out. "Because that shade is a part of the main seals, idiot," Alec glared as his mage counterpart, hands tightening into a fist. "If we kill it, the seals that contain the real danger here will weaken even more."

The Warden mage ignored not only Alec's glare but Malcolm's astonished stare as he leaned, once more, upon his ornate staff.

"Come on," Larius instructed the others, heading off what could be yet another argument between the usually calm Alec and their rather snarky blood mage. With a final glare at one another, the Wardens followed their commander to stand vigilant before the shade's prison.

###

Glowering down at the unconscious man, the Warden Commander stepped away, giving the Warden mage, Maurice, room to work. As he moved away, he glanced back, this time giving the younger man a look of respect. Despite the fact that they now had to wait until Malcolm regained consciousness, Larius could not help but feel a little bit of awe at the amount of magical prowess the young man had exhibited. As the Wardens stood vigilant guard before the greater shade, the non-Warden mage had poured copious amounts of magic into the bindings, re-securing them, bolstering their flagging energies to maintain the seal for several decades at least. Three times the young mage had to do this, without rest, downing three vials of lyrium in order to complete the task. Only once the third seal had been replenished had Hawke succumbed to the stress the outpouring of power had caused his body and slipped into unconsciousness.

Maurice had been dumbfounded – a rare occurrence for the rather cynical blood mage – explaining to his fellow Wardens that it had taken a great amount of control and power to perform the task Malcolm had. The blood mage had initially expected the task to take days, not hours. Larius had watched as the Warden mage settled next to the Spirit Healer, using his own minor healing abilities to make certain that the younger mage rested comfortably.

That, in and of itself, showed the Warden Commander how much respect the Warden mage held for the civilian.

Maurice had never been one to care for another's comfort; and had a particular disdain for those mages who hid their abilities rather than use them for their own gain. Yet, there he was, using his seldom used healing abilities to ensure the younger mage was resting comfortably.

Settling down next to Alec, accepting the bowl of stew the other warrior had prepared upon their meager fire, Larius realized he had made the correct choice in taking Malcolm to assist them in this quest. He had the power, the skill and the focus.

The Seals would be replenished; the corrupted being deep in the depths of the fortress would be contained.

He watched as Maurice moved away from Malcolm, eyes slipping back to the blanketed form. Perhaps the young man would live to see the light of day and his family once this was over.


End file.
